Fox in the Snow
by three-golden-mockingjays
Summary: Clove's alone in her house with her father and her misery. The streets teach Glimmer the good and bad side of beauty. Castor struggles without his brother in the beat up side of town. Iris Everdeen spills tears on her two year old Primrose. Katniss Everdeen knows that understanding is overrated. Five snowy moments inspired by Belle and Sebastian's Fox in the Snow.


_Fox in the snow, where do you go,_

_ To find something you could eat? _

_Cause the word out on the street is you are starving,_

_ Don't let yourself grow hungry now,_

_ Don't let yourself grow cold,_

_ Fox in the snow_

* * *

Anyone could tell you, in District 2, that foxes are good for absolutely nothing unless you manage to catch one; in which case they've got fur and meat and sometimes, that's enough.

When Clove Flare was a little girl, for example, she used to see the foxes and look into those amber eyes. She thought they looked smart, cunning. But as she grew, she toughened and hardened and changed form. She ate a fox on more than one occasion. She knew it didn't understand, and from the things that the foxes saw, perhaps that was a good thing.

Those amber eyes were there when Clove's disabled sister cried and raged and screamed and cried, because no one at school would talk to her and it was finally becoming too much. The fox didn't understand how it felt to be marginalised and alone, so it blinked those amber eyes, the pictures faded, and the fox took a few scraps from the bin.

Those amber eyes were there as the sound of sadness echoed through the walls. Every now and then, the sharp staccato of anger would cause the fox to jump, and later the slow cadence of loneliness let it know that it was safe to come in now. The fox didn't understand much, but he knew that when the girl with the dark hair nursed bruises and a split lip, she wasn't going to fight him. She was angry with the world, Clove Flare, most of the time. But these times, she was mainly scared. A bit sad. Pitifully lonely. The fox paused, enjoying the relief from the cold, then dashed, a strip of bloody meat hanging from it's mouth.

Those amber eyes were there, watching, as the girls would knock on his door. The noise of it would scare the fox, and he would skitter further into the shadows. What the fox didn't understand, however, was that the noise was much scarier to the girls who made it. It made their reality tangible, turned it from a nightmare far away to one they would shortly be living. When Clove Flare's father opened the door, the fox slunk back, and watched the girls do the same without really understanding. Clove dug her fingernails into her skull in the next room over, trying to pretend that none of it was happening. The fox didn't know what went on behind those doors. It merely took the food it needed and scarpered away. Footprints were light on the falling snow.

* * *

_Girl in the snow, where do you go,_

_ To find someone who will do? _

_To tell someone all the truth before it kills you?_

_ They listen to your crazy laugh,_

_ Before you hang a right,_

_ And disappear from sight,_

_ What do they know anyway? _

_You'll read it in a book,_

_ What do they know anyway? _

_You'll read it in a book tonight._

* * *

Glimmer knew that when she appeared on screens all over Panem, dressed in a transparent dress with her hair curled, no one except those from her hometown would guess her secret. After all, the Capitol did everything in it's power to erase that secret. Scars gone and skin coated in a fake tan, the wardrobe of a rich girl and the look of a beauty queen. Looking at herself in the mirror, Glimmer knew she looked like a girl who'd lived in comfort all her life. Someone who wore these ridiculous garments everyday, who had nothing better to do than curl her hair. Those curls entranced her. She'd never had curls in her life.

Her father wasn't a rich man. That was the first thing that would have surprised the viewers. She wondered, sometimes, what would happen if she revealed her past on the stage. Wondered what Cashmere would think of that. But she didn't ask. She didn't like to talk about her life, not when she didn't have to.

Her father was a cruel man. He had her mother silenced, scared of his power and scared of her own dependence on that towering wave of anger. Glimmer didn't have any siblings. It was just her and her mother who got hit.

One day, as winds howled and hurled snow in ribbons past the windows, Glimmer fought with her mother. Her mother didn't want to leave. Didn't want to acknowledge the bruises, while Glimmer simply couldn't take it anymore. Her family owned one good sleeping bag. So she took that, and she took all her clothes, and she slept in the doorway of the general store, out of the wind.

She lived on the streets for years. That was where, as the cruel calls of the men bit at her like angry winds, she found out she was beautiful. Except beautiful didn't have any positive connotations for Glimmer. Those men scared at her, but she pretended they weren't there. She survived. People gave her food. The train to the training centre was free. None of the trainers lived in her town, so they didn't need to know. She was registered under her parent's address. When people walked into the general store, Glimmer pretended to sleep, her blonde hair covering her face in a desolate sheet.

Someone tried to compliment her once. Smiled, gave her some food, gave her a book to read. Called her beautiful.

Glimmer shook her head sadly, but offered the kindly stranger a smile. Beautiful didn't have any positive connotations for her.

Except.

Except when the snow fell down and the wind howled and the door of the store was closed against filth like her. Except when she hadn't spoken to a person in days, hadn't felt the rhythm of a living being's words, hadn't held their gaze in her hand. Except when she wanted to show tell her father, "You were wrong. There's someone, out there, who wants me."

That's when she let them take her in, those men with the scary words but the warm hands. The hungry eyes but the unnervingly contrasting paternal appearance. She let them take her in, and every single one of them wanted nothing to do with her come morning. She didn't mind too much though. Those were the days where beautiful meant being somewhere warm for the night, feeling the touch of a human being, sliding through the cadence of their words. Beautiful didn't have an ugly meaning on those nights. Sometimes they called her beautiful, between breaths, but she blocked that bit out.

She blocked most of it out. There was no one to talk to about it, no way to get the emotions out. Glimmer's solution for this was to not let it in. The men that touched her, the wives they couldn't hide the evidence of, the snow and the judgement that rained down on her. It was all external to Glimmer. She didn't let it in.

Except that it did leak in, sometimes.

After a night sleeping somewhere warm, she'd return to the streets. People would look at her. _Disgusting. Prostitute. Whore. Drug addict?_ _Ruins the whole street._ People would judge. She wanted to tell them they didn't understand, that they never could understand, but she didn't. She let it slide off her, kept external what she could. They didn't know a thing, she told herself.

That became a pattern for her, especially in the winter, when it snowed. A warm bed, an empty feeling in her stomach, a man with a face she didn't let herself remember. A breakfast if she was lucky, and maybe a meaningless chat, then back out onto the streets. Harsh words, downcast eyes, people crossing the street to avoid her.

And so, Glimmer read the book the girl had given her, along with an empty but well-meant compliment. Glimmer became well acquainted with the story about the girl who was smart but not pretty, and slept in a warm bed, in a place far too magical for her to even dream of.

Didn't stop her trying.

* * *

_Boy on the bike, what are you like,_

_ As you cycle round the town? _

_You're going up, you're going down,_

_You're going nowhere, _

_It's not as if they're paying you,_

_ It's not as if it's fun,_

_ At least not anymore,_

_ When your legs are black and blue,_

_ It's time to take a break,_

_ When your legs are black and blue,_

_ It's time to take a holiday_

* * *

Castor didn't really know what to do after Pollux was taken away. Taken by faceless men with guns and harsh words, taken to have his tongue cut out and be sent underground to work. They had always known, the brothers, that it was a possibility. There was always the chance of being caught. Castor simply hadn't realised how disastrous it would be. After all, he wasn't involved in the whole affair, because Pollux had always tried to shelter him.

One of the men who took Pollux away was worse than the rest. He didn't just rip Pollux from his bedroom. He tried to mase sure Castor would never forget it.

"You should have told him."

Castor hadn't been able to see the man's face under his helmet, but he was sure it was a smirk.

"If you'd told him not to do it, he wouldn't have been arrested."

Castor knew that this was stupid. Pollux wouldn't have stopped the business if he'd asked, which was why he never did. He knew, as illegal as it was, it was the only way to be getting food on the table. Contrary to district beliefs, not everyone was living in affluence in the Capitol. Some, like Castor and Pollux, were orphans. Some, like Pollux, were clever enough to find a job. Though of course, not clever enough to escape capture.

Pollux delivered drugs. Apparently in the Capitol, there was quite a high demand - in the affluent areas too. Pollux would come home at night, pulling off his scarf with a face bright from the cold. He'd say something along the lines of, "You'd never guess who my new customer is. Same people who'd throw me into jail!"

Pollux laughed a lot. This was one of the reasons Castor could never really get himself worked up about his brother's less than legal occupation. Pollux didn't seem worried, so Castor wasn't either. They fed off each other a bit like that. The only time Pollux came home sad was when he'd made a mistake with his work. Sometimes he'd drop the drugs off at the wrong time, or make mistakes with the payment. Once, Pollux almost got the wrong address. Even worse was the time when he attempted to bargain with his boss. Told him that maybe he deserved more than 7% of the money. Pollux came home with black and blue limbs that night, but no laughter.

After Pollux was taken away, Castor had to figure out how to survive with no money coming in. He sold their old things, looked for work, but to no avail. Castor had no choice but to make the decision that Pollux had sold his freedom to avoid - he surrendered himself to an orphanage.

In the Capitol, there was only one orphanage. Not many orphans, unlike the districts. Kids who had nowhere to go, no one to turn to, were generally ignored by the Capitolites, who liked to pretend that their society was too perfect to produce such unfortunate circumstances. The orphanage was the Capitol's dirt secret, and hidden in its most western corner.

It was a place where infection was high, screams were loud and loneliness was tangible. In any given hour of the day, at least one of the younger children was bawling their eyes out. Toothbrushes went missing faster than you could count. Bedsprings creaked. Dinner was fought over. Gangs were formed, and Castor didn't fit into any of them. Castor was quite sure, that if he didn't find a strategy, he'd go mad.

Luckily for him, he did find one. Castor's strategy involved his brother's old bike. He'd never been able to sell it, not only because of sentimentality but also due to the fact that it looked like it could fall apart at any given moment. The bike had been lying, abandoned, in the laneway behind the orphanage until Castor felt the need to escape. Previously, touching the bike had felt dangerous, but Castor didn't care any more.

Of course, in the snow, Castor wasn't prepared to be homeless. He knew he'd return to the orphanage when the sun went down. But during the day, Castor cycled up and down the streets with his legs turning blue from the cold. He skidded on the icy footpath, sometimes he fell over. A few times, ran into street gangs who were pleased to give him a good bashing, leaving him dripping blood next to his bike. But he always got back up and kept riding, because being in motion felt a thousand times better than what he'd felt before.

Throughout winter, the screaming and moaning of the orphanage continued, and so did Castor's daily bike rides. Rain, hail, sleet, snow. The conditions didn't bother him. Sometimes, as he rode, he'd think of his brother. Often he wondered what Pollux was made to do, down there in the pipes beneath his feet. He wondered whether at any point in the hours he'd ridden these streets, he'd ridden right over his brother's head. Castor became an icon of the beaten up western suburbs, always present and always looking as thoroughly defeated as befitting of the mood.

One afternoon, he cycled past the usual strip of old shops. Many were abandoned, many desolate and surely to be out of business soon. He glanced at the brightly coloured wares through the windows as he passed, and saw his reflection in the windows. Pale, skinny, shrunken. Long, thin legs, wound with tight muscle and covered in bruises. Black and blue patches shadowed his legs, a black eyes glared at him. A laugh escaped from between Castor's flaking and swollen lips as he recognised the man in the reflection he saw.

Castor looked just like his older brother after a bad day at the job.

* * *

_Kid in the snow, way to go,_

_ It only happens once a year,_

_ It only happens once a lifetime,_

_ Make the most of it,_

_ Second just to being born,_

_ Second to dying too,_

_ What else would you do?_

* * *

Iris Everdeen smiled broadly as she followed her two children out of the house and into the freshly fallen snow. Jon moved faster, giving his wife a quick kiss on the cheek before hurrying off to catch the two little girls, running through the snow in fits of delight. It was white, clean snow, stark in contrast to the now brilliantly blue sky. The sun reflected off of it, and Iris knew that the girls would have pink, burnt cheeks by the end of the day. She also knew that it was entirely worth it.

She watched Jon pick up Katniss and whirl her into the air. Her already long, dark braid flew over her shoulder as her small hands threw feeble amounts of snow at her father. Jon grinned as he shook the snow out of his hair, which was white like his teeth. His cheeks were red, like his scarf. Katniss' grey eyes lit up with joy, a mirror image of her father, if you looked close enough.

Prim stumbled forward, still not used to her toddler legs, especially considering this was her first ever venture out into the snow. Iris reached out and picked her daughter up, wiping hair from her pink-tinged face. Prim was tiny, Iris knew this. A toddler shouldn't be this small, not even in District 12. But Prim was her mother's, just like Katniss was her father's, and Iris knew she'd never give up. After all, she hadn't given up when the local midwife told her there wasn't a chance.

Iris didn't love anything as much as she loved her youngest daughter in that moment: blonde wisps of hair poking out from underneath a knitted black beanie, mouth slightly parted, blue eyes gazing directly into her mother's with slight surprise. Then all those beautiful features, breaking into a smile.

Iris Everdeen squatted down, resting on her heels, and began to cry, tears almost freezing onto her face.

"Mama," Prim was not yet able to form sentences, but her tiny, hands, wrapped in badly made mittens, reached out to wipe a tear from her mother's face.

"Primrose," she said softly to her daughter. Prim followed her mother's movement completely with her eyes, even though not understanding her words, "This is such a beautiful day," Iris watched Katniss and Jon, completely blissful, now building a clumsy snowman, "The most beautiful day I've ever seen," Prim watched her mother intently, who still had tears streaming from those identical blue eyes, "You're going to have such a beautiful life, Primrose. You are going to grow up, and one day, you will have your own children, and one day, you're going to have a day like this."

And Iris cried and cried, because she knew, that for her two daughters, life was going to be nothing but hardship as they grew up in such an awful world. Prim blinked. She didn't understand. Iris buried her face in her daughter's woollen jumper, and wished she didn't understand.

* * *

_Fox in the snow._

* * *

The fox blinked his amber eyes.

He didn't understand.

Before another blink, Katniss Everdeen's arrow shot him clean through the eye. She strode over to him, picked him frame up in her hand.

He didn't understand.

"Good," she grumbled, apparently to herself, and kept walking.

She was right though. There was no joy in understanding any of this.

* * *

**Although possibly the strangest thing I have ever written, I really enjoyed writing this piece and so I hope that some of you like it! It's inspired by a song by Belle and Sebastian, titled (surprise, surprise,) _Fox in the Snow, _which I find really relaxing and just generally love. I obviously do not own it, although I'd absolutely love to be that musically and lyrically gifted.**

**I know this isn't the finest thign I've ever written, so I understand if you don't like it, but it would really mean a lot to me if you reviewed and gave me some form of feedback.**

**xx - L. **


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